Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies
by EagleEye14
Summary: They had an agreement: as long as they didn't ask each other questions, they would never lie; they could keep things casual, they could pretend they didn't need each other as much as they did. Not all agreements are meant to last…
1. Chapter 1

Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies

Chapter One

"Watch it Stilinksi," Jackson Whittemore said as he pushed the teen into the lockers as he passed him.

Stiles cursed and rubbed his shoulder, a stinging pain shooting through out the spot where he landed. Straightening his clothes and backpack, Stile pushed himself into the position he had been previously. He watched as Jackson sauntered down the hall, giving his signature smirk wherever he went. Right before he turned the corner, he met Stiles eyes and sent a wink. Ignoring the fluttering in his stomach, Stiles turned to Scott.

"That guy is seriously an ass," Scott said, giving Stiles a once-over.

"Total asshole," Stiles agreed. "And we're going to be stuck watching that asshole from the bench this season. So fun to be on the lacrosse team, isn't it?"

"Speak for yourself Stiles. I plan on making first line tomorrow," Scott said as he reached into his pocket. Fumbling for a second, he withdrew his inhaler.

Laughing, Stiles tapped Scott's inhaler. "Good luck with that," he chided. Patting Scott on the back, he turned and headed towards the library for his free period. "Get to class McCall. Can't be late to class on the first day, can you?" Stiles said over his shoulder.

Turning the corner, Stiles noticed the hall emptying out. Not many students had a free period before lunch, but Stiles was among the lucky. Whistling a tune he had heard on his way to school that morning, Stiles was so absorbed in looking at the little nuances of the halls of Beacon Halls High School he didn't see the figure waiting by a supplies closet, at least until the figure pulled him into said closet.

Freaking out for a minute, Stiles went to scream until the figure placed his hand over his mouth. Stiles struggled for a second until he took in the eyes staring into his own orbs. The man moved his hand and quickly covered the vacated space with his lips.

Stiles smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. The man deepened the kiss, nipping at Stiles's lips. Backing away, the man apologized. "Sorry if that hit was a little hard, I was aiming for McCall."

"I hope the hit to which are referring pertains to lockers and not what you just did, Jackson," Stiles said.

Jackson made a disgusted face at the thought of kissing McCall. Pushing Stiles further into the closet, he backed him up until he was leaning against shelves. Using the muscles in his legs, he pushed Stiles upwards until he felt Stiles wrap his leg around his waist. Stiles let out a little squeak at first, but quickly dissolved into groans as Jackson worked his lips over Stiles's neck.

"I should just show you who I'm talking about," Jackson whispered against his lover's neck as he fumbled with his belt. "I have a free period, you have a free period, and I can't wait until tonight," he continued.

Moaning, Stiles pulled his own pants off as best as he could, desperate to give Jackson access to his most private region. His boxers tightened at the sound of Jackson's belt hitting the ground. "Does this mean I shouldn't plan on stopping by then?"

"No, it just means I get to go twice at that sweet ass twice," Jackson said, preparing to enter Stiles.

Thirty minutes later Jackson left the supplies closet with a huge grin and a spring in his step, excited to go for round two later that night. Thirty-five minutes later Stiles left the same supplies closet, slightly limping but with a huge smile.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

Their arrangement had started last year. Both boys had been horny, Jackson constantly shut out by Lydia as punishment for buying the wrong the gift and Stiles desperate for his first time. That, and the opportune moment of Stiles walking in on Jackson in the school showers taking care of business, created the perfect stage upon which the boys could build their arrangement.

There was one simple rule: ask no questions, receive no lies.

It had essentially been meant to provide protection to each of the boys. Jackson didn't have to disclose any aspect of his relationship with Lydia and Stiles could in turn keep information about Scott from Jackson.

It had quickly become a way to help Jackson hide how deeply he had come to care for the spastic teen and allowed Stiles to pretend as if he was okay with the entire ordeal.

They were both happy with how things went. Jackson was getting laid regularly by Stiles, and didn't have to focus on the complete lack of attention he was receiving from Lydia, and Stiles got to get his rocks off. And that he did. On nights when either boys parents were out of town or at work, they had impromptu sleepovers. Kisses and quickies were snagged in the hallways during school and then moved to the now defiled Jeep and Porsche over the summer.

Things were crumbling quickly though, a fact both boys were reluctant to acknowledge. Their feelings had grown deeper, and their fights had become more frequent, especially considering the factor of Jackson having a girlfriend.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

Both Jackson and Stiles laid side-by-side, panting, covered only by a thin navy blue sheet. Jackson turned on his side and watched Stiles gasping for breathe, his chest tingling at the sight. "You should go pro at that," he joked.

"Me?" Stiles questioned. "You'd go gold if they added that to the London games," he added, also turning on his side, lightly tracing the ridges of Jackson's torso.

Jackson closed his eyes and reveled at the light touches, enjoying the moment where he could be vulnerable and not constantly on guard. Stiles leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. Jackson smiled and deepened the kiss.

The sound of bells broke their kiss. Jackson groaned and turned to his night stand. Picking up his phone, he read his most recent message and let out a groan, and then rose from the bed.

Stiles, concerned, asked what was wrong.

"Lydia wants to go out for dinner," Jackson said, placing his phone down on the desk. Slowly, he began to collect the clothes that were so haphazardly discarded across the room. "Looks like we're going to have to cut this short."

Stiles's face immediately broke out into a scowl, irked to hear such a thing. Nodding, he rose and began to pull his clothes on. Collecting his things as quickly as possible, he was desperate to get out of there as fast as possible, not wanting Jackson to see the raw emotion he was experiencing. Once everything was in place, he opted for the window, knowing it would get him to his car much quicker.

Jackson left the bathroom only to see Stiles straddling the windowsill, preparing to make his descent. "Why the rush," Jackson said, confusion reflected in his words.

"Figured your girlfriend wouldn't appreciate a naked man in your bed," Stiles said. "Why are you even with her Jackson? She treats you like shit," he said, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Part of the image," Jackson said, knowing this conversation was bound to come up at some point. "You knew the deal when we started this."

"Doesn't mean that I have to like it anymore," Stiles said. "You and your image . . . did it ever occur to you that maybe I am sick of this. Of being a secret?'

"I figured the awesome orgasms would make up for that," Jackson joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Ignoring the attempt at humor, Stiles threw out the questions which had been hanging between them for ages. "That's all I'm ever going to be, isn't it? A quick screw? Easy and reliable."

"Ask me no questions," Jackson said softly, staring at the back of the boy half way out of his window. He could see Stile's back go rigid, his shoulder's tense at the reminder of their agreement.

"And I'll tell you no lies," Stiles whispered back, shaking his head, then propelling himself out of the window and down the fire drain, intent on making it to his jeep before he let Jackson get to him anymore than he had.

Jackson waited for a moment, and then rushed to the window. Despite having agreed to keeping the whole thing casual, he didn't want Stiles to do something stupid.

"Where are you going," he said to the figure just reaching the bottom of the pipe.

"To get Scott," Stiles said immediately, unable to see the scowl that passed over Jackson's face at the mention of the boy.

"For what," Jackson called back, displeased that his lover's first stop was that lover's best friend.

Turning around as he walked, Stiles shook his head, before calling out his answer. "Ask me no questions." Sending a smirk Jackson's way, he turned and got into his car.

Jackson watched as he took off, and couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to just abandon their arrangement. He may not have been gay, but his time with Stiles proved he wasn't exactly straight. It wasn't that Jackson didn't care for the ADD-riddled teenager. It was actually the exact opposite. It had been such a long time since he had felt such a feeling for someone other than his parents or Danny. His relationship with Lydia couldn't compare, a fact that he was even more reluctant to admit.

Shaking his head, Jackson sent Lydia a text saying he wouldn't be able to make it after all. His argument with Stiles had obliterated any sense of need to keep appearances up. Instead the young man stripped off his clothes and climbed back into his bed. Stile's scent and sex still clung to his sheets, a fact which would ensure that it would be a bit before Jackson caved and had a maid change them. Sighing, the lacrosse player slipped into sleep, wondering what it would be like to hold Stile's hand in the hallways and what the teen was up to with his 'nemesis.'

It wasn't until the next morning when he was on his way to school that he heard about the body (or at least the half of a body) that the sheriff had discovered the night before. It then clicked and Jackson knew exactly where Stiles was last night, and exactly what he and Scott had be up to. Immediately, anger set in, causing the teen to drive a little more aggressively than normal. Determined, he planned to explain to Stiles just how stupid he was and planned on reaming the idiot he called a best friend.

Jackson would swear that it had nothing to do with how much he cared about Stiles Stilinksi. Then again, it's not like Jackson was known for being honest.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I have this whole thing mapped out and how it would go throughout season one. The only problem. I have a couple fics that I am unsure of as to which I should continue first. So check out my others and tell me which you think I should go with. It would appreciated!<strong>

**Reviews please! Gives me drive!**


	2. Chapter 2

Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies

Chapter Two

* * *

><p>Jackson waited like a predator, Stiles's schedule already memorized in his mind. Like yesterday, Jackson hid in the East hall's janitor closet, knowing that his prey would pass it during his free period.<p>

His blood still boiled at the thought of the young man waltzing through the woods the night of a murder, especially given the brutality of said murder, was idiotic and dangerous. He had gotten to school early, intent on asking Stiles about his destination after his departure last night, but was unable to find him. Instead, he harassed McCall (mainly because he could, but also because he was a little envious) and had walked off when some of his lacrosse teammates called for him.

Before he walked into the building he had given the grounds one more speculative glance, searching for buzzed brown hair, and almost gave up, until he spotted the object of his search holding up McCall's shirt. He knew there had to be some explanation for the behavior, Beacon Hills was liberal but not that liberal, but it didn't deter the jealousy that flowed through his body. It only fueled his anger about last night.

The thought of Stiles hurt or even the possibility that he could have been the next victim made Jackson's stomach clench (a reaction he didn't want to analyze), which is why he yanked the oblivious teen into the closet as he passed the door.

"Jesus Christ, you've got to stop doing that," Stiles shrieked out, clutching his chest as Jackson pinned him to the nearest wall.

Jackson brushed it off, used to Stiles's skittish behavior. "Were you there last night?" he demanded, his face contorted in anger.

Stiles's face went blank. "I was at home, watching … the home shopping network. Amazing channel, really. Great deals on these awesome portable brooms. You should definitely look into getting one," Stiles said, trying to maneuver himself out of the closet.

Jackson caught Stiles before he could make his escape. Pulling him back into the closet, he backed the skittish teen up against the wall.

"Stiles," Jackson started, "were you out in the woods last?" Jackson's tone was calm, no hint of cockiness present.

A calm Jackson was a dangerous Jackson, a fact that Stiles had quickly learned during the brief time together. "You know, I can't recall. I had some bad cheese last night and woke up feeling wonky today. I should go to the nurse, have her check that," Stiles said, once again trying to make a getaway, only to be met with solid body of his blonde lover. "I'm not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?" he nervously questioned.

Jackson shook his head slowly and moved in closer, disregarding any and all pretenses of personal space. "Stiles, I'm only going to ask this one more time: where were you last night?" the blonde teen asked.

"I went for a jog," Stiles said, avoiding eye-contact.

"In the woods?" Jackson questioned, observing Stiles's every move.

"No, I was no where near the woods. I ran through town. It's my thing, you know, running through the town," Stiles answered, once again becoming fidgety.

"You were in the woods, weren't you?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah I was in the woods, alone, no with me, just my self. Went for a jog, because, I wanted to, um, get in shape for this season. Get a little buff, like you. You've been working out Jacky, haven't you," Stiles said, trying to switch to a more flirtatious tone.

Jackson ignored his attempts. "You were with McCall, in the woods, weren't you?" he said.

"You know, you're eerily good at this whole interrogation thing. I think I am totally going to hook you and my father up," Stiles once again tried to minimize the blonde's anger.

"Stiles, please just tell me you weren't looking for the body of that woman," Jackson said, hoping that maybe that wasn't actually the case.

Stiles's face noticeably darkened, and for the first time since Jackson had yanked the other man into the closet, the blonde was becoming nervous.

"So what If I was? Remember Jackson, ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," Stiles said, pushing the other man away from him.

Jackson shook his head disbelievingly. "That so doesn't count here. You could have been hurt. What if you hadn't found the body? What if you found the murderer?" Jackson asked. "What would you have done then?"

Stiles's face flushed. "Yeah, hadn't thought through that angle," he admitted. "I don't get why you care so much Jackson. Last I heard you were with Lydia last night. Figured you were pretty occupied."

Jackson ignored the statement. It finally started to dawn on him how his actions looked from his lover's perspective. He was the one who dictated their entire arrangement, made the rules without giving any thought to Stiles. And he was the one who constantly enforced it, pulling his walls up and clinging to them whenever Stiles managed to worm his way farther into his life or his heart.

He wasn't ready to be out. He wasn't completely sure that he was even gay, but it was clear that his feelings for Stiles weren't some weird form of experimentation. Everyday they were growing, and it scared him. He was wanting things that he knew would never fit into the cookie-cutter All-American boy image he had spent years perfecting.

But he still couldn't get the image out of his head of Stiles lost in the forest, of him being hurt or dead. And it still made him sick to his stomach. He needed this, these moments with Stiles. They kept him going, gave him strength; he couldn't sit back and let Stiles's reckless actions cause the younger teen to put himself in jeopardy.

Swallowing hard, Jackson replied. "Just tell me what happened last night," he said.

Stiles let out a defeated sigh, then answered the question. "I ran into my dad on the preserve. He made me go home. It's not like I was in any life-threatening danger," Stiles said, his voice wavering towards the end. "Why do you even care? Weren't you with Lydia?" Stiles asked.

Jackson shrugged his shoulders, unsure of whether to respond with honesty or to lie. Eventually, he settled somewhere in the middle. "We communicated for a bit after you left," he said, failing to mention that he bailed on his girlfriend to lay awake half the night, think of Stiles.

Slowly, Jackson moved towards Stiles and ran his hands under the other man's shirt, caressing the warm skin beneath the thin cotton. Stiles's eyes bugged out and let out a deep moan.

"I know what you're doing," Stiles said, his own hands mirroring Jackson's, delighting in the way the man's face lit up with ecstasy. "You're avoiding my question."

"Oh yeah," Jackson said, biting Stiles's ear. "If you know what I'm doing, then why are your pants still on?" he asked, set on fixing that.

"You do realize how cliché this is right now, right? Screwing your secret boyfriend in the janitor's closet during free period, not exactly unique," Stiles said, resolve rapidly crumbling.

Jackson ignored Stiles's use of the word boyfriend and the electric jolt it sent through his system. Instead, he dived head first into their actions, thankful that nothing had happened to Stiles and that he was safe.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

As always, their time together wasn't perfect. Like them, it was jagged and rough and messy, yet there was a fluidity to their connection. After they had stopped talking and let their bodies lead the way, the anger and the tension had melted away, leaving the teens to immerse themselves in their joining.

Just as so many of their pleasant interactions had been ruined, their most recent was not immune. As both boys redressed, leaning against the wall for leverage, Jackson's phone let loose another beep, causing Stiles's face to darken and Jackson to stiffen.

The beep signified a text message from Lydia Martin. Over the course of their arrangement, Stiles had come to know and hate that beep, any affection for Lydia having been washed away as he fell deeper and deeper into the depths of Jackson Whittemore. Whenever that beep sounded, it meant that Lydia wanted something, and that usually meant that Stiles would become a second thought, once again.

Spurned by the noise, Stiles dressed faster, his once clean-cut outfit taking on a look of untidiness and wrinkles. Jackson also picked up his pace, his gaze darting between the phone and Stiles.

"Thanks for the fun, I guess," Stiles said, his voice uncharacteristically cold. "Should do it again sometime soon," he continued, lacing up his shoes.

Jackson finished dressing first and moved towards Stiles, painfully ignoring the way the younger teen flinched as he approached. "Don't be like that," he said.

Stiles scoffed and whirled around as he made his way for the door. "Be like what? I know the score, don't worry," he said. "Have to keep up appearances and such. But hey, text me later, we can set something up," he finished, his tone betraying the intent of the casual words.

Jackson went to respond, attempting to find the words that would calm Stiles down, but was powerless to stop the other teen from leaving the closet, the irony not lost on him. Letting a large sigh loose, Jackson reached over to his bag and withdrew his phone, dreading whatever Lydia was about to ask him to do.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This whole chapter was supposed to the first episode, but I decided to break it down into little chunks; it's a lot easier to do it that way. <strong>

**What do you think? Do you love it? Show it! Review please!**

.


End file.
